


Transatlanticism

by gothicauthor



Series: Hole in the World [1]
Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-12
Updated: 2010-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothicauthor/pseuds/gothicauthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The Atlantic was born today, and I'll tell you how.</i> When Jin leaves, it's like something in him dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transatlanticism

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically an exercise in angst. I'm a bad person, I know.
> 
> This could be either gen or romantic; it's up to you.

Kame's crying, and he kind of feels like he might be three years old. It's mortifying, but he can't stop, doesn't even know how, just knows that it feels like half of his soul is missing, torn away and leaving a gaping hole behind, and now everything that's left is collapsing in on itself because it can't stand like this, he can't stand—

Nakamaru's quiet panic is a gray buzz in the background, muddled with Koki's angry bursts and Junno's concerned mumbling. They're talking about him, about what to do with him, and the calm, logical, responsible side of him wants to sit up and smile and say, "It's okay, it's nothing, I'm sorry for making you worried, I just needed a moment," but the rest of him is exhausted with the façade. He no longer needs to look deep to know that he's not okay; his heart tells him with every unsteady beat, every misshapen, lopsided pump, thundering like vertigo in his ears.

Kame presses his face against his knees and breathes, tries to remember how. Or maybe he's breathing too much, but it feels like he can't get enough air.

Despair eats him alive. How did they ever think he could _do_ this? He's not this strong, he can't just… There are limits, even for him, there are lines that he can't cross, five does not equal six, one does not equal two, and he can't— he doesn't— he can't fill this great divide.

_Only for now only for now only for now it's just for now,_ he tells himself, but his brain doesn't believe it, and neither does he.

Fuck, fuck, this is so ridiculous. He's ridiculous. This entire thing—

He laughs a little between the heaving sobs, but no one can tell the difference; they just keep whispering, a hurried, furious ebb and flow that he can hear but not listen to. Kame gulps, tries to will the tide of his own emotions back to calmness, but it rises, rebellious and terrified and everything that he _absolutely cannot afford_ why now, why, why, why—

Someone touches his shoulder softly, presses harder when he doesn't look up.

Ueda's hand, the hotel phone gripped in his clean, white fingers. Dimly, Kame can hear ringing from the earpiece, tinny and distant.

"Wha…" He blinks uncomprehendingly, but even though he doesn't know, he _knows_. Kame reaches out a hand, pushes it away. "No. No…" he moans, "I can't…"

Ueda smiles back gently. "It's fine," he says, low voice a soft murmur. "Just take it."

"We're not allowed…"

Ueda puts the phone in his hand, wraps his fingers around the handle for him. "You're more important, Kazuya."

He doesn't know what it is—maybe it's the rare sound of his given name falling out of Ueda's mouth, or the way the dim hotel lighting throws a halo around Ueda's head, or maybe it's as simple as the color of Ueda's sweater—but Kame can stop at last. He hiccups, stares at the white plastic clenched in his fist. Lets the smooth feel of it ground him.

Hesitantly, he presses it against his ear, and the sound clarifies, becomes more solid, too. Then it stops, and Kame's breath hitches with it.

"Hello?" English, drawled, the vowels flatter and less familiar, but the voice is the same.

"Hey," he whispers hoarsely. "It's me."

A short silence.

"Hey," Jin says on the other line, and Kame feels something break and settle within him.


End file.
